


like a worn-out recording, of a favourite song

by ashintuku



Series: fox on the run [15]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Comfort, Cooking, Food, Gen, Team Bonding, Team as Family, cooking together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-03 20:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12755991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashintuku/pseuds/ashintuku
Summary: "Know anything about cooking?"





	like a worn-out recording, of a favourite song

He learned how to cook completely by accident, he swore. 

It was a survival thing more than anything else. Everything that the crew tried to feed him tasted like chalky blocks of Play-Doh, and he really wasn’t about that life. He hadn’t eaten Play-Doh since he was like, _five_ , okay. He grew out of that, and he didn’t appreciate this ragtag group of thieves and thugs trying to get him back into the habit. 

Kraglin showed him a few recipes; not because he wanted to, mind, but because Peter had gotten sick off of his own cooking too many times in a row that Yondu was starting to develop a twitch in one of his eyes. So Peter cobbled together half-remembered recipes from Earth with half-learned recipes from Xandar’s colonies; and then Oblo showed him some recipes _his_ ma would make, and those tasted alright, too, so he threw in that, as well. 

It ended up being a hodgepodge of varying recipes that, eventually, everyone on the crew developed a particular taste for. Peter, on days he felt less miserable, called it a bonding experience. 

Kraglin, to everyone around them, called it a clusterfuck of preferences and left it at that. 

Both were, in their own way, right. 

~+~

When Peter found himself a new crew, with less rowdy Ravagers and more ex-cons and criminals with absolutely no social skills to be seen, he had to re-teach himself to cook. 

Groot couldn’t eat anything except for water and some special kind of fertilizer that Rocket had to buy from an out-in-the-middle-of-fuck-all-nowhere planet that sold it; Rocket himself had sensitive taste buds, and certain things he wouldn’t bite and wouldn’t explain _why_. Drax had a style of home cooking that involved large animal carcasses and open fires which just. No thank you. 

And Gamora? Well, Gamora couldn’t tell you what she liked or disliked because she hadn’t grown up on _food_ , just protein packages and the occasional fruit or sweet treat that Thanatos gave out like rewards for a good assassination and/or murder. 

So Peter tossed out all he knew about cooking the Ravager way and started to cobble together the Guardian way of cooking, taking in advice from Drax and noting what foods made Rocket gag just seeing; taking note of what Gamora lingered over whenever he asked her to smell or taste-test something for him. He left Groot’s feeding and watering to Rocket and Gamora, because he was pretty sure his green thumb was a deadened black, and he really didn’t want the little guy to die a _second_ time, okay. It just wouldn’t do. 

Eventually, over the weeks of experimenting, the Guardians all found something that they enjoyed collectively, and Peter called it done. In his own way, he was right.

And then Ego found him. 

~+~

The electric taste of godhood on his tongue and the feathery-soft feeling of light fleeing his fingertips made Peter’s hands shake, and so he folded his hands under his arms and excused himself to the galley, determined to make something to eat. The last of the funeral lights faded in the stars outside; a conversation with an old Ravager ringing in his ears. 

It was only when he stepped into the familiar-unfamiliar scene of the Quadrant’s kitchen that he remembered he wasn’t on the _Milano_ anymore, and he had no idea what the Ravagers had in terms of food. 

He started to dig through cupboards and pantries; into the emergency supplies and the tightly-sealed freeze-dry packaging that had made him gag as a kid. It was a trick, remembering the quirks of this old kitchen compared to his _Milano_ , but a trick he was getting the hang of again faster than he thought he would. 

Like riding a bicycle, he was sure his mother would say. 

Or shooting your first pistol, Yondu would tell him. 

They were both, in their way, right. 

After a while, Kraglin came in to join him, falling into the familiar pattern of helping Peter where he needed help. The two didn’t need to speak: Peter would jerk his head, or Kraglin would make a vague gesture at something, and they would get to work. They fell in tandem, moving as easily as Peter did with any of his crew in battle. Maybe even better – he and Kraglin had been dancing _this_ particular dance since Peter was only as tall as Kraglin’s kneecaps. 

Gamora eventually slipped inside, Groot on her shoulders and the Zune in his tiny hands. Gamora didn’t step in – she never did, having no skill at cooking herself, but she accepted spoonfuls of food whenever Peter held it out to her soundlessly, tasting and either nodding or shaking her head when he glanced at her. 

Drax strode in, taking his spot on the other side of Peter and pulling one of his knives from its sheath, immediately getting to work on meat that Peter had found stored away somewhere. Rocket skittered in not long after, climbing up to the highest point he could so he could watch it all and make gagging noises whenever Kraglin went towards something that made him sick. 

The last to cram into the galley was Mantis: she held herself as small as she could; watching the group in front of her with wide, wide dark eyes. Peter glanced at her and took in her uncertainty and discomfort. He then offered a small, weak smile, his face still aching from screaming in the vacuum of space for what felt like hours, and waved her closer to the counter. 

“Know anything about cooking, Mantis?” 

“No,” she shook her head, stepping closer despite her caution; her curiousity winning out over everything else. “Ego would always just wave his hand, and food would appear for me to eat. It did not taste like anything at all.” 

“I think you’re gonna like this, then,” Peter said, dumping some kind of vegetable into a pot of boiling water. Drax tossed in the cubed meat he’d cut up, and Kraglin tossed in some spices that Rocket had finally approved of. “Dunno how it’s gonna taste – but it’ll be _loads_ better than that jackass’ attempt. If only because we actually tried.” 

“And if you don’t like it,” Gamora said, patting the spot next to her invitingly, “we’ll just make Peter make something else for you.” 

“Is that all I’m good for?” 

“Well – that and bringing trouble into our lives.” 

Drax laughed, loud and abrupt and somewhat inappropriately, and Mantis gave a tiny smile in response, perching herself next to Gamora. She watched Peter, Kraglin and Drax move as if they had always been doing this together; her antenna perked up a little. 

“...you are all... happy.” 

Peter paused, looking up at Mantis again. Kraglin only twitched and Drax didn’t react at all; everyone else grew quiet at her words. 

And when Peter thought about it, looking around at his new crew surrounding him, patching together a mishmash of Ravager cooking and Guardian cooking into something new, he realized that she wasn’t exactly _wrong_. 

In her own way, she was right.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi it's been forever and a day. Sorry about that! Moving and job-searching and the general hub-bub of real life got in the way, with a pinch of writer's block. I hope people are still interested in this series!


End file.
